Wednesday, March 23, 2011 at 9:36pm
If my heart could talk, well...right now, it wouldn't even be able to. Sadly, it wouldn't be able to find words. It misses her. It misses her so much and is so damaged. So hurt. So wounded, that it can't even speak. All it can do is howl. My heart would howl to her, screaming out that it misses her. “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much that it hurts. It hurts without you. I miss you. I wish I could hug you right now. I wish you were here right now hugging me too. I miss you. I love you so much, I can't even imagine the world without you. I miss you.” It would howl.
It feels like a bad ending. Un-real. Like /this/is/NOT/my/life. /This/is/NOT/how/the/story/goes. /This/is/not/how/it/went. Like the great story-teller got lost. Forgot the way it was supposed to be read out, and went off script entirely. Created a dramatic twist, a tragedy that was supposed to be a calm happy story. I can't get past the feeling that her life was unfinished. That it was meant to go on. She was supposed to be here now. Happy. Content. Healthy. Here. My mom was amazing. My mom was supposed to be my family forever. Christmas. Thanksgiving. Milestones in life were supposed to be shared. Babies were going to be born and held. Loved and known. She was going to sing to them. Laugh with them. And smile upon them. They were going to develop a special relationship with her. I was going to grow old with her as my Rock of Gibraltar. I was going to be able to go out into the world and explore, feeling safe because I would know that she would always be here if I needed her. No matter where I was, she would only be a phone call away, and if I ever needed her, she would protect me. Shelter me. Heal me. Soothe me through life's tribulations. But she can't heal this. It can't be healed. I still don't know if I will survive this.
As a child I needed her. I was shy. Gentle. And needing of support and encouragement. She was so vibrant and fearless. Vivian. It was the best name for her. She exemplified it's root meaning. She was life. I still need her. I still need my mom. I can't shake that. Can't get rid of that instinctual bond. That feeling which makes my body and heart ache with longing. I feel like a soldier -fucked up in the head, and fresh from war. For the most part, I can pass. I'm still able to make a joke. Laugh. And somewhat function. But compared to how I am naturally...compared to who I was when she was healthy, before I could imagine any of this, I am a dimmed down version. A light sketch when I should be bold strokes; a vivid illustration. I have psychological issues now. Scarring from this battle. My mind is broken now. I can't attach myself the same way anymore. I can't shake the fucked up twisting of my brain. The horrific replay of her primal moan as she left this world. Her last breath escaping her. And that horrible gurgle of fluids as I pulled her limp body into a sitting-up position, so that I could get some leverage and position myself to pull her gently and quickly onto the floor. Getting a hard and solid plane underneath her so that I could give her CPR. That horrible noise and feeling of breaking her bones as I gave her that first compression. Totally fucked up. Not able to keep my word. Not able to keep the focus. Not able to remember that I had told her that I would be here for her to the end. And let her die peacefully at home. I knew that was the plan, and I couldn't stick to it. I couldn't handle it. It hurt me so much. I failed her. I will never forgive myself for that failing. I feel like I have post traumatic stress. Flashbacks to the horrible. Pain that won't let go of my heart.
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